[Unfinished, Open]
Who: Aya & Itachi (Anynone's welcome to join them, however.)
What: Sparring.
When: Few days after the hunter event.
Where: By the river.
Summary: Well, there's going to be sword swinging. Other than that, I do not know, yet. (A lot of communication through different shades of 'Hn'?)
Rating: G-PG-ish?
( Tell me, are you strong? )
What: Sparring.
When: Few days after the hunter event.
Where: By the river.
Summary: Well, there's going to be sword swinging. Other than that, I do not know, yet. (A lot of communication through different shades of 'Hn'?)
Rating: G-PG-ish?
( Tell me, are you strong? )
"Hn." It was an agreement at the same time as an acknowledgment. It was pointless to waste time for chitchat when neither of them seemed inclined.
The look in his narrowing eyes was determined when he looked up, and then he was dashing towards his opponent, hand reaching for the hilt of the katana, metal hissing out of the saya and being thrust towards Itachi. The position of the hit made it possible to turn possible parry into lock of blades with just a tilt of his wrist, the saya gathering strength in a wide cross body swing that would follow right after. There was no waste in his movements; he had learned to lose those years back. He didn't wait around to aim for the main goal either; instant kill was what he did after all. But there was a hint of tentative touch to his movements, weight more at his following leg rather than the leading one.
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The man's katana was a longer than his own; Itachi preferred his own weapon to be slightly longer and more curved than a standard ninjato -- a slight disadvantage in close combat, but that had never proved to be a problem in the past.
He recognized the motion; an honest attack, an assassin's strike with a rather weak chance of a follow-up. Of course, that was the saya. Clever. A hint of a smile touched his thin lips -- he reversed his grip on the short sword in a smooth motion, blade pointed toward the ground.
It would be so easy to roll and spring up, slice this man open from groin to throat and be well out of range of the inevitable mess that would follow before it would even start to fall. The clone snorted with Itachi's disdain -- here he came.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The angle of his sword switched position at the last second, deflecting the opposite side of his opponent's, spinning behind him (the urge to strike out with his leg and sweep the redhead's legs from underneath him was strong, but this man had said swords only) and skipping backwards several steps, putting distance between them once more. His finishing position may have looked potentially vulnerable -- legs wide apart, one fist to the ground, blade parallel to his forearm in a backhanded grip a few inches above the curve of his back -- but the predatory look in his dark eyes spoke of only supreme confidence.
"Again."
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Fast. Damn fast. Aya would have liked to consider his next attack a moment longer, but that would have meant to give the other time to correct his stance as well. Not that Aya really expected there to be any mistakes, or weaknesses judging by the way the man was looking at him. But that wasn't the point. It was quite clear in the way the man moved, he could have cut Aya open by now, or at least hurt him enough to make the whole sparring pointless.
His grip on the saya shifted, the length of it now parallel to his arm, his defense; it seemed he'd need one with Itachi. He didn't hold back this time, jumping in and letting his blade come down in a sweeping motion from Itachi's supposed weaker side. It was a simple attack, but movable enough to change into something else completely in middle of the motion.
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On the other hand, the redhead's sweeping, slashing attacks left him wide open. One arm curved protectively in a defensive stance in case Aya decided to employ the saya as a weapon again, and he swept his sword up to chest level to catch the strike -- his will, as much as his physical strength, kept the back of his sword from crushing his arm with the power of the blow, but he still felt he had the upper hand.
The sound of steel against steel was almost beautiful as the longer katana slid quickly just inches away from his bare arm; Itachi's eyes were on Aya alone, waiting to see what the man would do to complete his attack.
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The maneuver would have been stupid, if there had not been the saya coming in to shield him, and the fact that Aya shifted his weight from the forward leg to the hinder one, turning his hip just slightly. If this had been a real battle, Itachi would have cut him to the side just enough to make him bleed, but he would have also lost his head for it.
Aya trusted the man would find another way out of the situation.
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His free arm came up to block the saya from any surprise maneuvers, conceding a potential hit to complete his own move.
His sword hand curled into a tight fist around the tsuka, keeping the loose blade of his katana from slashing either of them unintentionally as he twisted his arm, bringing the butt of handle to jab viciously at the underside of his opponent's arm -- not in a spot that would deaden the nerves (Itachi felt having the blade-end of a katana dropped on his head seemed like a rather ignominious way to die), but enough to knock the blade from its chosen path and give Aya something to think about.
The third and final strike was the most vicious; his other leg struck fast and true, momentum from his quick ascent propelling his foot flat against Aya's sternum. Though Aya had requested no "magic", Itachi utilized a precise blast of chakra at the point of contact to lessen and disperse the effect of the bone-shattering blow rather than enhance it -- the effect being smashed in the chest by a brick wall rather than a spear. It would hurt like hell, but do no serious damage.
[ooc: Fuck, ow Aya. *pat pat* I'm sorry. ;___; At least he didn't chase your ass down with shuriken?]
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Aya couldn't do much, only hold on to his katana as the kick connected, robbing him off of air and punching him across the air with deadly ease. Somewhere in his brain registered the thought that he'd never survive a real fight with this man, he'd be just a bloodless corpse tomorrow if Itachi had been there to kill him. This was no Farfarello, who didn't quite frighten Aya anymore, no insane blood lust to cloud the man's mind, no unnecessary battle cries, just smooth movements, bare necessities, beautiful and deadly.
Fear, or pain. Aya wasn't sure which one was the more striking, which the most compelling. Both were fueling him as he curved his back, receiving the kiss from the ground to his upper back and rolling with the momentum Itachi had given him. Almost bonelessly, he rolled over his shoulder, feet coming down and pushing himself up. The muscles at his middle refused to work and he stumbled few times, saya hand connecting with ground, stance widening.
Then he was searching for his opponent with his gaze, coughing to remember how to breath, defending hand coming up to clutch his abdomen. He knew, his stance was too wide, too easy to exploit, but his body refused to correct it right now, curling around itself until the pain lessened a little. But he still held his sword up and 'hn'-ed at Itachi.
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While he most definitely had the upper hand at this point, Itachi had no desire to press the attack. It was not his style; rather, he waited and defended as necessary until his opponent had worn themselves out or the perfect opportunity to strike arose, at which point it would be over.
The ninja had no words of encouragement or derision to offer -- both would be useless, and Itachi did not believe in useless things. Aya was nowhere near the strongest he'd faced, but Itachi could see both determination and lingering hate buried deep in violet eyes, and that made Itachi think more of him. Besides that, the rest was useful for himself, as well -- his kage bunshin took far more out of him than it did back on his world.
Itachi kept his expression and stance carefully neutral and ambiguous while Aya recovered. Let him think whatever he'd like, Itachi thought. Let him fear a surprise attack that will not come.
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He kept Itachi under his gaze all that silent time, only illustrated with his raw panting. When it became obvious that Itachi wouldn't attack he let his stance shift into another one, thinking. It was obvious he wouldn't get through with just simple attack. It would probably be completely useless to faint as well. Aya had a feeling Itachi would see through him without a doubt. But what then? There had to be something he could exploit. The terrain? No, he had chosen this spot because of the clearing. The snow wasn't light enough that he could kick up a cloud to cover himself...
He'd just have to trust to his skills and speed.
Ignoring the pain in his middle, he charged at Itachi again, faster than before, but with a cut of blade that wasn't as heavy as the ones before. It came up, towards Itachi's shoulder, forcing him to parry up. Aya however was already prepared to let the sword tilt back with a loose wrist as he'd drop down to a crouch to sweep in a kick. His movements were liquid, ready chance their course from the smallest of indications.
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